


Almost Everything

by Areiton



Series: Parallels [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, POV Outsider, POV Second Person, Stiles Leaves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 18:26:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12216408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: You watch them move away, watch the way Derek moves around Stiles like a planet orbits the sun, watch the way Stiles turns to him, a needle turning north.





	Almost Everything

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: angst and feels and not exactly a happy ending. Part 2 in the series will be happier....

You go with him when he goes back to Beacon Hills. You’ve been together for four years and you think sometimes he’ll propose, but then you think it’s been four years and you are just now going home to meet his father. 

You know he loves you, but there’s something that keeps him distant, and that’s ok. 

He’s got his history and you’ve got yours. You’ve been on three tours in Afghanistan. You know what the scars of war look like. 

So you don’t ask when he wakes up screaming, when he counts his fingers, when he goes quiet staring at the moon. You don’t ask why he keeps a bat in his car and a jar of dust under your bed. 

The thing is--you know he has secrets. But you love him, despite them. 

You go with him when he goes back to Beacon Hills. 

You meet the Sheriff who greets you with a warm smile. His eyes follow you when you touch his son, and you almost feel self-conscious about it. 

Four years seems like a long time to wait to get the  _ treat my boy right _ speech, and it doesn’t come, not really, but it’s there. 

The subtext is there. 

Stiles kisses you and tells you he worries, that it doesn’t mean anything. 

He’s different here. Tense and wary, but it’s not only that. He has always been a wild storm in your life, destroying as much as he touched and you’ve never minded that because you love him, you love him and he can destroy everything if it means he’ll stay with you. 

But he quiets here. The wild force of nature goes still. Deadly still, maybe always, but it’s a subdued force, and you shiver next to him in bed before he turns to you, draws you close and you rest against his chest and remember that this is where you belong. 

In the morning, he’s gone, the bed empty and cool beside you and the window is open. You frown as you close it, rub your fingers of the sharp grooves in the window sill before you pad quietly down the stairs to find him. 

You hear them talking before you reach the kitchen, a conversation that makes no sense and isn’t meant for you. 

“Are you going to see the pack, while you’re here?” 

“Told Scott I would.” A pause and then, “It won’t change anything.” 

“Didn’t think it would,” the sheriff says mildly. 

“I’m  _ happy.” _ he says, fiercely and there’s a long silence. 

“I know you are, son. I know.” 

You go upstairs and wait for him and when he crawls over you in bed and kisses you he tastes of coffee and sugar and home, and you take everything he gives you. 

You always take everything he gives you. 

You go with him when he goes to see his friends. 

You’ve met some before--Scott and his pretty wife, Lydia with her sharp eyes and wide smiling mouth. Even Isaac, bright curly hair and laughing eyes and lips that looked gorgeous around your cock that night in your apartment, while Stiles watched from the corner of the room. 

But some you don’t know. Stiles introduces you and you squeeze into the booth between him and Lydia. You’re quiet, compared to him, but this isn’t about you. You aren’t here for you, you’re here for him and these people matter to him. 

He doesn’t talk about high school much, but when he does, it’s always about them. 

It’s happy stories about Scott and Lydia and Malia, about a girl named Allison who you still haven’t met and Danny who had drinks with both of you, once, a year into your relationship. It’s about Peter and Chris, who make a brief appearance and startle you by being so much older than everyone else. 

You hear what he doesn’t say, or the hints of it, see it reflected in the moments when conversation and laughter falter, when Lydia’s smile turns into a grimace, when Mason’s fingers trace over the ring of scars on his wrists. 

He doesn’t talk much about high school, and when he does, it is always about these people and you think of the nightmares he still has, the hypervigilance you see in him that you’ve seen in friends with PTSD. 

Stiles is laughing at something Scott said when you notice the man approaching from the table. A black woman flanks him, and it’s fascinating to watch them walk, like predators prowling forward. They’re almost too attractive, both of them, despite the scars running across her neck and up her jaw. 

You are so focused on them you don’t realize that Stiles has gone still, painfully still, that Lydia is trembling at your side, and you look around, worried. 

“Stiles,” the man breathes and that snaps your gaze back to him because you don’t understand that tone, not from someone that isn’t you. 

“Derek,” Stiles says, and the name doesn’t register. You’ve heard about Scott and Lydia, about Allison and the sheriff, even some idiot named Greenberg. 

But you’ve never heard of a  _ Derek.  _

“We can’t stay,” Derek says, smiling at the table without ever taking his gaze from Stiles. Your heart is pounding, and you don’t know why, don’t understand the feeling of danger and loss that’s turning the alcohol in your stomach. 

“Can I have a second?” 

Stiles glances at you, and his eyes are worried, apologetic, hopeful and you nod at him, a smile you don’t feel turning up your lips. He leans in and kisses the corner of your lips and you think you hear a growl, before he’s pulling away.

You watch them move away, watch the way Derek moves around Stiles like a planet orbits the sun, watch the way Stiles turns to him, a needle turning north, and you feel sick. 

“Who is he?” you ask Lydia, and then, “Who is he to Stiles?” 

“To Stiles? He was--nothing,” she says. 

You wish you knew why  _ nothing _ sounds like  _ everything.  _

When he returns, alone, his fingers are trembling and he leans into you, a little, and you kiss his temple and murmur, “Do you want to go?” 

He nods against you and you wait until he’s said his goodbyes and leans into you as you walk to the car. 

He clings to you in bed that night, and you kiss him and let him fuck you with a desperation you haven’t felt since the first year you were together. 

After, when he has cleaned you up and collapsed next to you, you ask again, ask him this time. “Who was Derek, to you?” 

There’s a long moment, long enough you wonder if he will answer you. If he will lie to you. And then. “He was...almost.” 

“Almost?”

“Almost,” Stiles says. You wonder if he realizes he sounds wistful. “Almost mine, almost in love with me, almost...everything.” 

“You were together?” 

He shakes his head and laughs and it’s bitter. “No. Almost.” 

You bite your lip and ask, softly, “Why does your father call them a pack?” 

Stiles has secrets, and you’ve always known that, have always accepted it. 

But it’s been four  _ years. _

Stiles rolls away and you wonder what it means, that he will tell you about Derek, about  _ almost _ , but not this. 

You wonder if the things he doesn’t tell you all circle back to Derek--if everything in this town that he has run from has to do with the gorgeous man who so clearly loves your boyfriend. 

You don’t ask that. You don’t ask anything. You hold him close so it doesn’t feel like he’s slipping away and close your eyes. 

You wonder how long  _ almost _ will be enough, when you saw  _ everything  _ in Derek’s eyes and hear it in Stiles’ voice. 


End file.
